


The Femme Fatale

by Liviania



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/M, Gen, Softboiled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviania/pseuds/Liviania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosa Diaz is tired of part of her job description.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Femme Fatale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butforthegrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butforthegrace/gifts).



"I'm not going to be the femme fatale again," I said gruffly, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against our only file cabinet, a rickety thing made of cheap wood made by Jeffords.  I didn't lean too much.  Jeffords was a good man to have at your back, at least before he lost his nerve, but his furniture wasn't so trustworthy.

"But you're so good at it!  You're female! And fatal!" Jake protested. "We have literally no one else here with those qualifications."

I snort.  "There's Santiago. Make her do it."

"I could use a date, even if it is a fake one," Santiago said, as if she were actually thinking about it, then muttered, "Peralta keeps chasing off my dates."  She reached over and smacked the back of his head.  "A dame needs companionship, you know.  Sorry, sir," she said, turning to face Holt.  "That was inappropriate."

Holt's expression didn't change. "I don't see what's inappropriate about companionship."

"I'll tell you what's wrong with her 'companions,'" Jake said. The sarcasm in his voice was a touch thicker than usual, although it was hard to tell. Jake's default setting is rather enthusiastically sarcastic.  "They're all a bunch of saps.  Wouldn't know a flim-flam artist from their mother."

"Your mother's a flim-flam artist," I said, uncrossing my arms and pushing myself off of the cabinet.  Using all the height granted by the heels I wore, I loomed a little and intensified my normal glare.  "I won't do it; Santiago isn't up for it.  We need to hire a skirt.  A real tomato."

Holt nodded.  "We've been bringing in enough money to hire another employee.  Put an ad in the paper."

"I'll write it, sir!" Santiago volunteers.  "I used to pretend to write articles in my diary back when I wanted to be a journalist! Not that I have a diary," she hastily corrected herself.  "I pretended I had a diary that I wrote articles in."

"You pretended you had a diary?" Holt asked. His tone was ever so faintly disbelieving, which was about as expressive as the boss got.

Flustered, Santiago replied, "I'll go write that article now," and hastily walked over to her desk.  She punched Peralta in the arm as she passed, because he was doing a terrible job of hiding his laughter.

* * *

The Peralta Detective Agency.  We're the finest sleuths in all Brooklyn, if you're willing to hire us.  The buttons sure aren't.  Oh, they hired Jake once, but drummed him out pretty fast.  He's a better gum-shoe than the guys on the force, but he ain't got the stomach for their games.  But it's lucky for us that he was once official and all, cause that's how he met Boyle.  Boyle's our guy on the inside, always passing tips and helping to keep us out of trouble.  Only good copper I know, and good enough at politics to keep his head down, unlike Jake. Hitchcock and Sully pass cases to us sometimes, but they aren't good cops, just incompetent ones. I'd rather a case from Boyle any day. Not to mention Boyle's cases rarely required me to doll myself up and tempt a wandering husband.

Now, Jake's name might hang over the door and bring us cop business, but he's not really the boss.  That's Holt, a real stoic black man.  Best boss I ever had.  He doesn't ask about me and I don't ask about him, although I hear he spent some time in prison as a young man.  Not sure I believe that rumor, or the one about his living arrangements. His right-hand man is Jeffords, or it was Jeffords until his wife had a baby.  He's just not the bruno he used to be since he's afraid he might get hurt.  Jeffords is real afraid of orphaning his kid.  On the other hand, he frequently brings everybody lunch. When Boyle drops in he often drops some crit for the big guy, which has led to a huge improvement in the pizza quality.

As for Santiago and I, our names aren't going to be over the door anytime soon. Nobody respects a chick.  We can both pass for white with a bit of effort, but who wants to make an effort for somebody who has already dismissed you because you don't have a cock?  I can't see what good having a cock has ever done for anybody.

And now we have to hire another chick, because I sure as hell am tired of playing the femme fatale.  I don't even know where these guys got the idea that there's a gorgeous gal out there just waiting to lead them to a life of excitement and danger. I've led man after man into a sting for this agency, and not one of them was worth the dough I had to spend on fancy underwear.  Not to mention the squeezing into it.

* * *

So far, there haven't been many takers.  Not many broads in the sleuthing business, and most of 'em have walked out once a black man started asking them questions.  The red-headed looker who just walked in will probably be walking back out any minute now.

She started walking towards Jake's desk, then stopped and looked at me.  "Wow, you're like really angry," she said.  She walked up to my desk instead and got up in my face.  She covered her face with one hand and stage whispered, "Are you constipated?  'Cause I've got a remedy for that."

"No. This is my face."

"You might want to try smiling," she said, then pushed the edges of her mouth up grotesquely.  "You catch more flies with a smile of lies."

"I don't think that's a saying."

"Excuse me, Miss . . . ?" Holt interrupted. Thank God.

"Gina Linetti," she replied.  "You can call me Gina."  Then she noticed Jeffords over in the corner, quietly working on some paperwork.  "But you can call me Gigi, sugar," she yelled, winking like she got a bug in her eye.  I rolled mine in response.

"Gina, we are looking for woman to help us catch men who might compromise themselves when faced with a beautiful woman."

"Ah, so you need me for weapon number one and number two," she said, grabbing each of her breasts in turn.

Santiago and I stared.  I think Jake drooled a little, the dog.

"Yeah, the cats can't get enough of these puppies.  I'll take the job. Dancing just isn't paying the rent anymore."

"I didn't offer you the job."

"Yet." She pulled a lighter out of her purse and lit up a cigarette, cool as a cucumber. I kind of liked the chick. Daffy, but I don't think she was going to back down quickly. Dancers don't.

Holt nodded.  "Come back on Monday. You can take our messages while you're learning the trade.  Diaz has been working the jobs you'll take on," he points to me, "so you can ask her more about what you'll be doing."

She turned and laughed at me.  "Let's see what you can teach me about picking up a gee."

* * *

"Why can't you just be our femme fatale?" Jake whined as we left the office.  He turned and looked at me, eyes big.  "Remember when that goon bought you a big bottle of champagne?  Good times."

"The palooka barfed that champagne on me later."

"Oh, kinky." He grinned, going off to a happy place for a moment.  "But she's so loud! She has to go."

Suddenly, I liked Gina even better.  I reached out and tweaked Jake's nose.  "I am not the femme fatale," I said.  "Now let's go back to my place, have a beer, listen to some basketball on the radio, and bone down."

He nodded, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we headed to my apartment.  "But you're keeping the underwear, right?"

**Author's Note:**

> I aimed for a hardboiled Dashiell Hammett AU as requested. Instead, I ended up with the world's softest noir. I was really excited by your prompt, but I'm afraid I didn't do much justice to Brooklyn Nine-Nine or noir when I tried to combine them. It was fun trying to figure out how the Nine-Nine characters might've operated in the past.


End file.
